


safely to arrive at home

by ships_to_sail



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: All The Tropes, Bed & Breakfast, Cuddling and Candles, David Rose is Trash for Junk Food, Fluff and Angst, Gifts, Hand Jobs, M/M, Making Out, Meeting the Family, Road Trip, Sciatica, Shameless Self-Indulgence, Snowed In, bed sharing, flat tire, holiday fluff, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: There are two types of people in the world. Those who pack their bags, shower, print out back-up maps in case the GPS drops out, and have all the gifts Tetris-packed in the car the night before the big road trip; and then there are those who wake up ten minutes after their last alarm, barely manage to toss cold water on their face and hot coffee down their throats, and have only packed their meticulously curated and planned-to-the-hour snack selection when it comes time to hit the road.And sometimes in the universe, those two people meet and fall hopelessly in love.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 26
Kudos: 242





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My dad checks in with the nuerosurgeon today before his tumor-ectomy tomorrow. So we're playing "DISTRACT THE BRAIN" and that means y'all get TWO FICS TODAY
> 
> *insert Oprah 'you get a car' GIF here*
> 
> There are tropes ahead, friends, so be wary - I make no apologies

There are two types of people in the world. Those who pack their bags, shower, print out back-up maps in case the GPS drops out, and have all the gifts Tetris-packed in the car the night before the big road trip; and then there are those who wake up ten minutes after their last alarm, barely manage to toss cold water on their face and hot coffee down their throats, and have only packed their meticulously curated and planned-to-the-hour snack selection when it comes time to hit the road.

And sometimes in the universe, those two people meet and fall hopelessly in love.

"You have got to be kidding me," David drolls as he stands outside Patrick's Toyota, packed to the gills with gifts and bags and mystery items David can only guess at, leaving just enough room for Patrick to drive and see out of the rearview mirror. There wasn't enough leg room for David to slouch artfully. 

"David. You saw me packing the car. My car! How did you think we'd be getting to my folks?"

"In a bigger car, behind which we'd be towing your delightfully tiny vehicle that is currently serving as pack mule on this little sojourn."

"Little sojourn? Okay, Moira. Time to get in the car."

The sound David makes is part gasp, part tongue-swallowing choke, and Patrick smirks when he puts on a sour face but doesn't say anything else as David slides into the passenger seat, snack bag clutched tightly to his chest like he's a dowager widow boarding the Titanic. He's wearing his lightning bolt sweater and has a giant pair of circular sunglasses covering half his face. He looks slightly ridiculous, a little uncomfortable, and exactly like the man Patrick wants to spend the rest of his life with. Patrick looks at him fondly, and for just a few seconds too long, because David looks at him and waves his hands and makes a sound that’s partly an “um” and partly and “ugh” and Patrick closes the door quickly before making his way around to the driver’s seat.

He leans over the center console and pecks David quickly on the cheek, pretending he doesn’t see the smile that plays at the corners of David’s mouth. He loves that even now David is at constant war with his face, always trying to pull it back, keeping it from being too open, and that Patrick is one of the few who can usually win out on the side of vulnerability.

“Don’t forget that I did make you coffee,” Patrick says as they slip out of the driveway and start to make their way through the quiet, early morning streets. Early is probably a bit of an overstatement, but this David they’re talking about, and they’ll barely be getting there by dinner as it is. 

“Mm, did you?”

“That would be what’s in the mug, yes.”

“You did this, then? You got up and pushed the on button on the machine and made this delicious brew I now have the honor of consuming?”

They’re paused at the stop sign and Patrick cuts him a look, eyebrows raised, that means he’s willing to play along, but just barely. He eases back on the gas and looks back at the road, shaking his head a little. “I mean, if you don’t want it.” He reaches out and grabs the to-go cup from David’s side, ignoring his own full tumbler, and takes a long, slow sip. The noise he makes is almost oppressively dirty in the small space of the warming car, and he makes it look so good that David can’t help but reach out and try to take the cup from Patrick.

Who takes his other hand off the wheel for a split second to slap at David’s hand, returning to his 12:00 hand position so fast David would’ve thought he’d imagined it if it weren’t for the fact that his hand was still stinging. “Um, excuse me! That is my coffee!”

“Nah. You and your grumpy, sloppy mouth can have mine.”

“Black with no sugar?!” David acts like Patrick has asked him to down a steaming mug of strychnine. 

Patrick shrugs and smirks and takes another long, steady drink. “Next time, say thank you.”

A few long seconds go by and David says, “thank you,” a little begrudging but mostly sincere. 

“You’re welcome.” Patrick smiles at him for real this time, holding out the to-go mug, which David takes quickly and gratefully and brings to his lips throughout hesitation. 

He dips his head back once. Then twice. Then a third time, his eyes growing increasingly large. “I see you decided to go ahead and finish the coffee.”

“Yeah. I did. Have a snack, David.”

And David does. Even though he’s still 30 minutes too early, according to his plans, and it just means he’s going to have to re-stock on Pop Tarts earlier than he’d assumed. But the sugar does help, as does the coffee he ends up drinking, once Patrick convinces him to use the single-serve packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer he pulls out of his glove compartment.

“Where did you get these?”

“David, you work at a motel with a coffee pot. Did you just assume everyone who drank the coffee drank it black?”

“There’s a coffee pot at the motel now?”

The road hums along beneath them, and every now and then the calm voice of the GPS app reminds them that they’ve got just under 1000 kilometers left to drive, and even David has to admit, as he drifts off into what he hopes is a trip-length nap, that the morning sun through the trees is really, really gorgeous. He falls asleep in the dappled light as Patrick sings under his breath with David’s Spotify diva playlist.

*

“Holy fuck!” David starts awake to Patrick swearing and the feeling of his stomach dropping out of his ass. He sits up straight, his arm reaching for the oh-shit handle at the top of the door. He says something that might me “oh my god” and might be “shit” and might just be nonsensical noise, as Patrick keeps two hands clenched tight on the wheel, knuckles white and jaw clenched as he keeps his eyes glued to the road, wider than David has ever seen them as he guides them as steadily and safely as he can to the shoulder of the road.

Patrick brings the car to a stop and turns it off, and the two just sit there, breathing heavily into the silence of the car. Patrick can’t stop staring out the window and David’s heart is racing. “What the actual fuck.”

He doesn’t say it like a question, and it’s not, and when PAtrick speaks his voice is hoarse and thin. “Flat tire. No idea why, but it feels like a total blowout.”

And David doesn’t even stop to make a joke at the word blowout, just turns in his seat and pulls Patrick to him by the collar of his shirt, the motion rough and so sudden it snaps the safety hold on Patrick’s seatbelt and so instead David fumbles his own seatbelt off and then he’s crushing their faces together. And it’s not romantic, or sweet, it’s actually a little painful, a clash of teeth and jawbones and the bruising pressure of a kiss that says “thank you for saving our lives I’m sorry I was a dick about the coffee”.

When David lets up, both of them are still breathing hard but it’s for a different reason now, and Patrick’s grip on the steering wheel has finally eased up. He takes a deep breath and smiles at David, a warm, open smile. “Time to assess the damage.”

Patrick opens the door and David leans over across his seat. “I know this isn’t helpful, but you are very attractive when you say things like “assess the damage”.”

“I know,” Patrick says, leaning back on his heels, one hand rested on the wheel well as he frowns at the shredded remains of what was formerly their tire. “And you’re right. That doesn’t help.” He stands up and rubs his hands together before shoving them in his back pockets. He zips up his puffy coat so that it rests right underneath his chin and looks at David with that practicality that turns David on and means he’s in for some manual labor. “But I’ll tell you what will.”

Which is how David finds himself standing on the side of a lonely Canadian highway, bouncing from foot to foot as he tries not to think of the horrendous shade of orange he’s currently wearing thanks to Patrick’s loaner coat. David has a coat, he’s not a moron, but he’s also not exposing his Rick Owens leather jacket to the weather unpredictabilities of this current situation. It was almost as if, knowing this, Patrick had intentionally packed his most obnoxious back-up coat. 

Almost.

He’s doing his best to follow Patrick’s directions, to hold this thing and push on this bar and help get enough leverage on the little screw-nutty-tire things Patrick spent half an hour swearing at, but he doubts he’s actually being any real assistance. Patrick is growing redder and redder in the face, his chest heaving and sweat gathering along his hairline. After what feels to David like an eternity, but is actually only five or six songs from the playlist, Patrick has slid the new tire in place and screwed on those screw-y things, this time without David’s help. Once that’s done, and he’s put the tools back in their spot in the trunk, David at least does him the courtesy of re-packing the presents while he sits in the front seat and strips down to his undershirt.

His undershirt that is now clinging to his body in all the places David loves so much, and he can’t help the hunger in his eyes when he slips back in the passenger seat and exhales loudly. “So. That was an adventure!”

Patrick looks at him out of the corner of his eye and smiles a half-smile, like he’s too tired to get the rest of his mouth to cooperate. “It certainly was.”

“You’re like, my knight in shining armor, or something.”

“More like your knight in shining Armor All,” Patrick quips as he uses his sweat-drenched button down to wipe his hands and forearms, which are blackened with substances David doesn’t really want to think about. 

“I don’t know what that means.”

Patrick chuckles and gestures to David, waving a hand towards himself, and David slides across the seat and leans over the console, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Patrick’s neck, breathing deeply into the sweat-cotton-lavender smell that is his fiancé. It’s intoxicating, and it’s all David can smell, and it’s driving him crazy so that’s what he blames when he darts out his tongue and licks, reverse-tracing the path of a drop of sweat as it drips from behind his ear and down his neck. David ends with a gentle nip to Patrick’s earbud, and feels the other man growl beneath him. 

Patrick reaches a hand up and around David’s back, pulling him a little closer and leaning into him, and David takes the hint, pulling Patrick’s hair slightly to get him to tip his head, leaning down and sucking gently on the pulse point right behind Patrick’s ear. He hums again, his hand tracing circles on David’s low back, and he’s happy to stay just like this, just the two of them. They’re fine, and the car is fine, but this is also the scariest thing that’s happened to David since he was on that very ill-timed jet flight with Leo and Giselle, and it might even be scarier because sure it’s a car and not a plane but also that was a life before he knew Patrick. And the thought of something happening to Patrick, here in this life they were building together, was enough to make his heart hurt in, like, a not-fun kind of way. 

But then Patrick’s phone pings and the moment is broken when he looks at the clock on the car dashboard and swears. 

“It is really already 1:30?”

“It would appear so, yes.”

“You know what this means?”

“That it’s going to be a very late night for you on the road, so we better stop for more coffee? Oh, oh, and some Timbits.”

“Tim Hortons?”

“Desperate times.”

Patrick shrugs his shoulders slightly, his sign that it’s time for David to sit back in his own seat now so that he could resume responsible, safe driving.

“Unfortunately, babe, I’m afraid the delay doesn’t just mean more road doughnuts.”

“Then what does it mean?” David is trying so hard not to panic, but he’s failing miserably and they both know it. Especially when Patrick looks at him with those mischievous eyes and that pitying-but-not smile.

“Means it’s time to call your dad. We’re going to need motel recommendations.”


	2. Chapter Two

David Rose doesn't  _ do  _ motels. Sure, his father is co-owner of an award winning roadside accommodation, but that's irrelevant and Patrick knows it. For David, motels are simply incorrect. 

So Patrick gives him a little more grace than usual when he bitches incessantly about having to get out of the car for the FOURTH time for a place that was SIXTH on the list they'd gotten from Johnny. The first two had been too far out of the way to be of any use. Option three was booked, option four closed for a bed bug breakout, and option five was just closed. No notice, no lights, no cars in the parking lot, nothing. It was a little eerie, if Patrick’s being honest.

"Aliens," Patrick mutters when they get in the car, and he knows David is over it because he doesn't even muster up the energy to tease him.

By the time they pull up to the Belland B&B, the edges of the sky are growing dim, and they're both exhausted. Patrick turns the key in the ignition and they both just sit there, staring at the aging Victorian house-front. Patrick exhales forcefully and tries to give David an optimistic smile. “Let’s just hope they’ve got the space.”

“Oh, that is decidedly not what I’m hoping.”

Luckily for Patrick, there's more than enough room for them at the inn - so much so, in fact, that they're the only other folks in the place. Patrick gets their room situation all squared away, tucking the informational packet and physical, metal room key into his pocket before heading back to the car and corralling David inside. 

The room is small, but it's in the back of the house and has both its own entrance and an en suite, so Patrick's happy. David, on the other hand, acts like he's just arrived at the Bate's Motel and found Momma Bates sitting up on his impossibly low thread count sheets.

"I am not sleeping on that."

"It's a bed, David."

"It's a museum piece."

Patrick laughs. "You don't like the idea of being watched over by the angels while we sleep?" He taps one of the frighteningly realistic carvings on one of the wooden bed posts.

"First of all, those are cherubs, and secondly- no. No I do not."

"Well I'm afraid it's either the  _ cherubs _ ," Patrick raises his eyebrows and emphasizes the word in that adorable, teasing way he knows drives David crazy, "or the car. Because I'm starving and we’ve only got about twenty minutes until Ms. Belland is serving dinner. Not to mention I smell like tire grease and your beef jerky grab bag." He says it a little harsher than he means it, because it has been a really long day, and he’s felt unsettled since the busted tire. If he notices, though, David doesn’t show it.

"Dried charcuterie sampler," David corrects him quickly before continuing, "and this cannot be the only place left for us to stop."

Patrick takes a few steps towards him and then hooks a finger into each of David's front pockets and pulls him close, looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes. "It is the  _ only _ place. And if we don't get ready soon, we're gonna miss the food." He kisses David quickly on the neck, directly above his pulse point, scraping his teeth along the skin softly.

"Mmm. If you keep that up we will  _ definitely  _ miss dinner."

"You're right," Patrick says, his voice low and sultry, his breath warm where it skates over David's skin. David leans up into him just as Patrick pulls away, a bright grin on his face. "Better wash up then." 

He claps David on the shoulders before crossing to the bed, grabbing his toiletry bag, and heading into the bathroom. He slaps David on the ass as he passes, who stands in a daze, holding on to the bedpost and wondering what just happened. 

*

Dinner, as it turns out, is just as awkward as David had said it would be. The proprietor and his wife were lovely, but the roast beef and mashed potatoes - "instant," David gags the second he puts the first bite in his mouth - are barely edible and when David asks if they have any wine the woman brings him grape juice with an apologetic smile. Dessert is carrot cake - stale carrot cake - and the final straw turns out to be the very heartfelt invitation to sing carols around the piano.

"That is very sweet, but we've had an incredibly long day," Patrick demures for the third time while David nods and clenches his jaw through his smile. 

"Oh, are you boys sure? Glen would be happy to break out the guitar!"

The mention of the word guitar sparks a light in Patrick's eyes and he looks at David with his eyes big and his mouth opened slightly in a question he already knows the answer to. 

"Wouldn't that be lovely," his voice is bright and tight and Patrick squeezes his knee under the table. David cuts him a glare that is scary enough, Patrick actually swallows audibly, and thanks the Bellands one more time for the food and the room. And then he’s doing his best to hustle David to their room before something snaps his final string and his entire plan to redeem this surprisingly long and tiring day goes completely to shit.

Patrick manages to just get the door behind them before David lets out a loud, “ugh” and shakes his arms like he’s trying to physically brush off the energy of the place.

“I am so sorry, babe,” Patrick says, leaning back against the closed door and taking a deep breath through his nose. He makes sure the door is locked and slides the key onto the dresser as he makes his way to David, who is just standing in the middle of the floor, staring at the room around him like he’s still doing the math on how they got here. He slots himself against his fiancé, pressing his cheek into the space just above his heart, listening to it beat as his arms come to rest heavily around David’s hips. 

It takes a second, but then David relaxes against him and Patrick feels his lips press to the top of his head. David’s arms slither around Patrick’s neck and pulls him infinitesimally closer. Patrick ‘hmms’ in pleasure, feeling something in him uncoil, something that tightened when the blowout happened and had been getting worse throughout the day. He begins to run his palms up and down the broad expanse of David’s back, kneads into the knots he finds in his shoulders and at the base of his neck. David sighs and murmurs an apology into his hair and they’re okay. The day was long but it’s done and they’re fine.

But Patrick has never been one to settle for fine.

“This day has been a total shit show.”

“Understatement of the century.”

“Do you want to just go home? We can, in the morning, if you want.”

“We’re not going to do that, Patrick.”

Patrick breathes the smallest sigh of relief. He wouldn’t blame David for taking him up on his offer - between the car and the choice of lodgings, this was shaping up to be the exact opposite of the easy, relaxing little holiday jaunt Patrick had first pitched David. Add to that the fact that this was the first time David was meeting his family, and he had to be honest and say that he’s not sure he would’ve kept going if the tables were turned. Patrick was dependable, but David was brave. When he kisses David this time, he does it with all the gratitude and love he can’t quite find the words for. “Thank you.”

“Mm. Don’t worry. I’m adding this to your tab.”

“My tab?”

“Tab. The list of all the ways in which you owe me for being the world’s most accommodating and compromising boyfriend.”

Patrick laughs, remembering the conversation on compromise that took them from ‘coworkers who kiss’ to official boyfriends. He kisses David again, slower, hotter, a little sloppy. When he looks at David, his mouth is red and his pupils are huge. “I think I may have a way to pay down the tab, if you’re interested.” 

David’s eyes sparkle in the low lamplight of the room and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh yeah?”

Patrick’s laugh is low, and dangerous, and vibrates against David’s neck when he steps in again to kiss him a third time. “Yeah.” He wraps his fingers into the short hairs at the base of David’s neck and pulls, just hard enough to get David’s attention and let him know they’re no longer bantering. That Patrick’s got a plan. The noise David makes is so full of want, it sends all the blood rushing straight to Patrick’s dick. He leans into the kiss, using it to push David backwards until he sinks onto the bed.

“Five minutes.” Patrick says, breaking their kiss loudly and giving him a stern, serious look. “Get comfortable.” David gives him an inquisitive look but keeps his mouth shut, nodding. 

Patrick disappears into the bathroom and it only takes him three minutes to set up, but he spends the full five making David wait. When he calls David, it’s worth the wait to hear how quickly David gets up off the bed, how fast he makes his way across the small room to the bathroom. And, when he gets there, he inhales sharply, a reverse gasp that he only makes when he’s truly surprised. Patrick’s only ever heard it from him once before, the first time Patrick held his wrists to the mattress and fucked him so hard he had bruises the next day. David had laid in bed the next morning looking at them, and when Patrick tried to apologize, David made that noise and told him not to apologize, that he loved it, loved walking around with Patrick embossed into his skin. 

Patrick’s newest life mission is doing whatever it takes to get David to make that noise. 

Including draping the bathroom of a mildly shitty B&B with as many candles as he could fit into a carry-on suitcase (which, he was surprised to find out, was kind of a lot). They lined the sink basin, and the floorboards, and we staked in groupings along the back of the medicine cabinet. There were tealights and tapers and even a few of the big fat pillar candles they sold at the store, dutifully paid for. They cast the entire room in a warm, honeyed glow. The bathroom wasn’t big, just enough room for the toilet and sink, and a giant clawfoot tub that spanned the length of the entire room. It was a porcelain monster, and might have  _ actually  _ been an antique, but it was clean and unchipped and, at the moment, lined with a pile of sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows until it looked like the world’s most comfortable bird’s nest. There’s a bottle of wine lying amidst the blanket, and an entire sleeve of Oreos that definitely didn’t belong to Patrick.

David spins to look at Patrick, fingers on either side of his mouth, which is gaping open. “What the fuck is all of this?” He says it all breathy, like he can’t get his heart under control, and his eyes are smiling. 

“An apology? This isn’t  _ exactly  _ how I planned to do this bit, but after the day we had, waiting seemed stupid.”

“Waiting. Does that mean,” David lets his eyes scan the room again, and when his eyes land back on Patrick, they’re shining with a different kind of attitude. “Patrick Brewer were you going to seduce me with wine and candles and cookies  _ in your childhood bedroom?! _ ”

“Teenage bedroom, actually, we moved from my first house when I was like seven.”

“I think maybe I should be scandalized.”

“I think maybe you should kiss me.” And David does, licking into his mouth and grabbing onto the back of Patrick’s mouth like he’s trying to consume him entirely. Patrick leans into it, into the heat and tangle of tongues that feels like home and leaves him breathless.

“This is all very sweet. Thank you,” David says when they break apart, panting.

“You’re welcome. I know you said you didn’t want to sleep in the bed, so I figured…”

“It’s just. Sleeping in the tub is absolutely going to kill my back.” Patrick sighs, frustrated, and David immediately looks sorry. He waves a hand through the air and puts two hands on Patrick’s shoulders. “Forget it, never mind, come on. Let’s drink.” 

“No, you know what, this is stupid. This is just like the hike idea all over again, and we talked about that after and - we should just go home, David. In the morning, we’ll just hit the road early and be back in Schitt’s Creek with plenty of time to still scrape out a good Christmas.”

“This is not stupid. This is lovely. I love that you packed up an entire suitcase of seduction just for me, you even packed the junk cookies I know you hate.”

“I actually just stole those from your snack bag in the car.”

“Okay, well, we’ll just replace them tomorrow. And that’s still very, very sweet. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” David kisses him on the forehead and Patrick closes his eyes, smile small.

“Now, let’s get to bed. I’m exhausted.” David holds his hand and walks him to the edge of the tub. Patrick follows him after a gentle tug, still feeling reluctant, even though this was entirely his idea. “Is there a specific kind of geometry we’re looking to accomplish here, or?”

“You’re taller, so you’re on the outside.” David steps into the tub and grabs the wine and cookies, placing them on the tank of the toilet, which they can barely reach once they’re in the tub. He sits, settling back against the pillows.

“This is, like, actually very comfortable. You’re turn.” He opens his arms, and his legs, and Patrick licks his lips and reminds himself to breathe. David has stripped to his undershirt, crisp and white and pulling across David’s chest, the v-neck deep enough that Patrick can see his dark chest hair. He’s wearing thin plaid pajama pants that Patrick knows from experience are soft as silk. Patricak can also very clearly tell that that’s all he’s wearing.

He takes the few steps between himself and the tub slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and folding it loosely, tossing it on the edge of the sink. He undoes his belt and takes off his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He’s not worried about wrinkling the denim, so he doesn’t bother folding them. He perches on the side of the tub, reaching out and cupping a hand around David’s cheek. He runs the pad of his thumb underneath David’s eye and leans forward to kiss him. David wraps a hand around his wrist and kisses him back, and it’s sweet, and soft, and feels like all the good parts of their shared history. 

“Get in here,” David says impatiently when the kiss finally ends. Patrick steps into the tub and sinks down between David’s legs, settling so that his back is pressed against David’s chest, David’s thighs pressed along the sides of his body. The tub is almost long enough for him to stretch out fully, so he grabs a pillow from beside them and sticks it beneath his ankles. It’s not the most comfortable he’s ever been, but David’s right. It’s more comfortable than he would’ve imagined. 

He hums contentedly and nestles back against David’s body. David is warm and solid and Patrick is so, so grateful to have him here. “I love you,” he says, his voice already growing heavy with sleep. He’d had so much more planned, a complete seduction, one of his award-winning hand jobs, they hadn’t even gotten to the wine and Oreos. But it’s been such a long day, and the pillows and blankets and David have all combined to make him feel precisely, perfectly safe. 

So he closed his eyes, and fell asleep, and he thinks he remembers David whispering I love you back and the plastic rustle of a sleeve of cookies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is smut coming. I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

The light in the bathroom is a dark, almost hazy grey that means it's either disgustingly early or disgustingly late. David shifts in the last bits of sleep, but then he feels something in his back twinge and his eyes are open. Patrick is still snuggled between his legs, but there's an extra blanket on top of them and all the candles have been blown out. Which means that at some point, Patrick was awake and hadn't moved them both to the bed. David should be annoyed – his lower back is certainly complaining – but then Patrick shifts against him and he looks so peaceful in the dim light, so young and innocent and David wants to break him into a million pieces.

He sinks lower in the tub, finding an angle that makes his back feel marginally better, while at the same time puts him within reach of Patrick's dick. He's soft, but as David begins to stroke his fingers up and down Patrick's ribs, lightly brushing over his nipples as he presses soft, slow kisses to the tops of his shoulders, David can see him growing harder. He hums a little and shifts again beneath David's constantly moving hands, but his eyes are closed and his breathing is even like he's still sleeping. 

David cups Patrick through the thin fabric of his underwear, squeezing gently and beginning to stroke him slowly. There's a damp spot forming underneath David's hand, and it's such a small thing but it lights fireworks under David's skin. Patrick shifts again, and this time he is clearly trying to grind down against David, searching for friction with his hips that he can't find with the way David's legs wrap around him. He makes a frustrated little whining sound and David chuckles, low and dirty, and shushes him, the air blowing over the shell of his ear. 

He slips his hand inside Patrick's underwear and eases them down his hips. Patrick doesn't move to help him and David nips at his ear until he does, wrapping his long fingers around Patrick as soon as his cock is free. Patrick's hips thrust up and he's at the perfect angle to do this. Patrick's leaking at the head, and David uses his thumb to swipe up the small thread of precome, using it to ease the friction as he tightens his grip and begins to stroke faster.

Patrick is panting now, his head pressed back into David's shoulder, teeth digging into his lip. David begins to whisper absolutely filthy things into Patrick's ear, all the things he wants to do when they've got a bed and David's toy box and all the time in the world to be inside each other. Patrick nods his head quickly and makes low, animalistic noises as he ruts up into David's hand and comes hard.

He releases his grip on Patrick and tucks him back into his underwear before grabbing one of the blankets in the tub and cleaning Patrick off. He leans. back again, feeling warm and satisfied and incredibly horny, when Patrick manages a gymnastic feat and flips over, his chin digging painfully into David's sternum.

"Mmmm, good morning."

"Good morning," David pecks him on the lips and winces. Patrick's elbows are digging into his love handles and the tub suddenly seems much smaller than it did just a second ago.

"That was amazing."

"Yeah, for me too."

"Seriously, David, that was. Quite the wake up call."

"Uh-huh, yep. That is very sweet."

"I'm squishing you a little bit, huh."

"Just most of my internal organs, it's fine."

"Okay," Patrick puts both hands on the rim of the tub and manages to push himself up and out. He sticks out a hand for David, who uses it to lever himself to his feet. He staggers a little as his back tenses up, and Patrick reaches out his other hand to steady him. It's early enough that Patrick tucks David back into bed before showering, and the difference between the cloudy spring of the mattress and the unforgiving porcelain of the tub is unimaginable. Patrick rubs out as many of the knots in David's lower back as he can before slipping into the bathroom and leaving David to a few more hours of comfortable sleep.

*

"Motherfucker!" Patrick's voice is incandescent with rage, and David drops his bags on the porch with a deep sense of foreboding. 

"Patrick?"

"The fucking spare is flat!" Patrick kicks the hubcap and shouts 'fuck' again when he stubs his toe. He's bouncing on one foot and his face looks tomato red and David is torn between being foolishly in love and full of dread at the fact that, apparently, they are now stranded.

"I told you we should just go home," Patrick sulks and sits on the bottom porch step, rubbing his toe. David sits down next to him and pats the tops of his thighs resolutely.

"Okay, first of all we would've waited until this morning anyway, so that's a moot point. Secondly, that attitude isn't going to fix the tire."

"Nothing is going to fix the tire."

"Then let's get a new tire!" David's voice is straining past the edge of cheerful and into manic. 

"From where? It's Christmas eve."

"Jewish people don't own auto shops?"

"I don't know, David," and Patrick's chin falls to his chest. He rubs a hand along the back of his neck and shrugs his shoulders, defeated.

"Even if they did, and even if there was one within a workable radius - how are we supposed to get said tire."

"We'll go pick it up." As soon as the words are out of David's mouth, he hears it. 

Patrick looks up at him with his wide, bambi brown eyes and asks, "with what car?"

David harumphs a little and Patrick spreads his arms wide as if to say 'this is where we are.’ He lets a hand fall onto David's knee and his forehead follows. David pats him gently on the shoulder and chews on the inside of his cheek. They let the minutes tick by until David clear his throat for the third time and Patrick picks up his head to glare at him. It's more sad than it is angry, though.

"What?"

"What what?!"

"You're not subtle, you know."

"I'm just wondering how long we can sit out here before frostbite becomes a concern?"

"Okay," Patrick stands and hoists David to his feet. "Let's go call Stevie and see if she can get us out of this."

"I'm sorry, I fail to see how involving Stevie could possibly lead to good things."

"Considering Alexis is out of town with Ted, it's either three hours with Stevie, your mother, or Roland."

"That is someone's very specific version of hell." David rocks back and forth on his heels a few times before he sucks his teeth and nods his head. "You know what, why don't you go have a cup of tea, see if maybe Mr. Belland will play one of those charming guitar songs with you. I'll take care of this one."

"Could you sound any more condescending?"

"I almost went with 'little guitar songs'."

That gets a laugh out of Patrick, and David presses a kiss to his temple as they head back inside. "David, how exactly do you plan on 'taking care' of the flat tire?"

"Don't worry about it."

"That's reassuring."

"Oh, ye of little faith and massive sarcasm." He pushes Patrick through the doorway to the kitchen. "Give me twenty minutes."

*

It takes him forty, but by the time Patrick tracks him down again, David is sitting on the hood of the car, cell in hand.

"Any luck?" David's face is inscrutable.

"There is not a single open auto body shop within fifty miles of here."

"Ah."

"I'm not sure we'll make it in time to go to church with everyone." 

Patrick's stare is sharp, confused. "What?"

David's face breaks out in a grin and he does a little mock half-bow from where he's sitting. "I got us a ride."

Patrick lets out a few incredulous laughs and shakes his head. "Stevie?"

"Oh God no."

"Then…"

David's smile falters a little, his smile growing nervous. "Turns out the Bellands have a truck."

"That they're letting us borrow?"

David's smile is officially a grimace. "Not exactly. Mr. Belland doesn't exactly trust strangers with his truck."

"Makes sense."

"However, he has offered to give us a ride the rest of the way to your parents house."

"It's a five hour drive."

“Uh-huh."  
Patrick sinks onto the hood next to David. "What's the catch?"

David scoffs. "There's no catch. It's just that, well, the truck is currently also holding what are apparently motorcycle parts? So there isn't room for any of the gifts we brought."

Patrick's face falls and his stomach hurts. He'd had to give David a bit of a hard sell on making the holiday trip to begin with; the final incentive had been the opportunity to drag Patrick through every boutique and artisan pop-up shop within a hundred miles over the last several months, all in pursuit of the perfect gifts for Patrick's family.

"David, no!"

He waves his hand through the air, his face resolute.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does! You worked so hard, and everything is so thoughtful."

David sniffs, loudly, and stares at the cuffs of his sweater sleeves. "Well. That is very kind of you to say. But it's either the gifts, or getting to your family for Christmas, so."

Patrick stares at David's profile until the tears in his eyes make him blur into a haze of monochrome. He leans forward and puts his chin on David's shoulder, breath shaky and voice breaking when he says, "thank you."

David nods and looks at him, smiling through his puffy eyes and splotchy face. "We need to be in the car by one if we want to get there on time."

Patrick stands up and slips his hand into David's. "Then come on. Cup of coffee for the road."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My eternal gratitude to storieswelove for all the beta help along the way <3

When Patrick was having a hard time at the store, he liked to do this thing in his head where he planned vacations. Lusty overnights, romantic weekenders, sprawling weeks away to the Cayman Islands or Big Bear. He’d imagine an itinerary of activities, smile to himself at the thought of David’s constant packing lamentations, make budgeting decisions about restaurants and activities, while all around him buzzed strangers with questions about cat hair scarves and locally sourced face masks. When he’d build these elaborate scenarios, though, he’d never factored in a pick-up truck from the 70s that smelled dully of cigarettes and had a radio dial perpetually stuck on the contemporary country station.

David shifts beside him for the millionth time since they’d gotten into the car a few hours ago, as though he can somehow pull himself far enough away from the radio to make it all stop. He looks truly betrayed when, every now and then, Patrick hums along to a familiar song.

“How do you know this?”

“I have a secret Spotify I’ve never told you about.”

“Are you serious?!”

“No.”

Patrick smiles at him and David just makes a disgusted little sound before going back to his phone, where he’s three levels away from running out of Bubble Pop to play. Mr. Belland not-so-subtly turns the radio up half a notch, and Patrick goes back to staring out the window and counting all the ways this entire weekend has turned to utter shit. 

As the light outside the window transitions from clear blue to dusky purple to an inky navy just shy of black, they climb over the set of hills that surround Patrick’s home town. They’d made it in record time, but still not quite early enough for church, so they have Mr. Belland drop them off outside of Patrick’s parents house with a chorus of thank yous from Patrick and a begrudging head nod and single, quiet "thanks" from David. Patrick can tell that it’s still bothering him to have left their gifts back at the B&B, but they’ve been reassured by Mrs. Belland that she’ll keep them safe until Alexis can come and pick them up in two days, on her way to get David and Patrick from his in-laws.

Patrick grabs the carry-on they’d managed to quick-pack and holds David’s hand, leading him into the dark, quiet house. It’s warm, and smells like the soup Patrick’s mother always makes for Christmas Eve, spicy and cheesy and delicious. He hears David’s stomach rumble and chuckles.

“Well, I’m glad one of us finds my starvation funny.” Patrick’s surprised David doesn’t have the back of his palm pressed to his forehead when he turns around.

“I am truly sorry that your snack selection wouldn’t fit into the suitcase.”

“I just don’t understand why you needed a second pair of pants.”

“We’re going to be here for two more days, David. What happens if one pair gets dirty.” He says the last word with emphasis and waggles his eyebrows, which makes David smile. Patrick leans in and kisses him quickly - he loves kissing a smiling David. David pushes back against him, his hands immediately coming to the back of Patrick’s shoulders. And it’s been such a long weekend, and house around them is so warm and quiet, that Patrick gives in to the temptation to walk David backwards until his back is pressed against the living room wall, right next to the family portrait of Patrick and three of his cousins when they were younger. 

David nips at Patrick’s lower lip and Patrick growls into his mouth, grinding down against David at the same time that he slips a hand under his many layers of sweater to run a thumb along his lower back, just below where his ridiculous blak pants hit. David shudders and licks into Patrick’s mouth, wrapping one hand around his neck and letting the other fall to his hip, where he digs his fingers in until Patrick sighs into him. Patrick’s hand is just drifting lower, getting a full grip on David’s ass, when they hear the key in the door.

They bolt apart like the horny teenagers they’re embodying and Patrick is smoothing a hand over his hair and down the back of his neck when his mom and dad walk in the door, followed by two of his cousins and their husbands, all four of his grandparents, two nieces, a nephew, and a partridge in a pear tree.

“Oh my god,” David says under his breath, his cheeks red from a combination of embarrassment and sheer awe at the number of wide-eyed Brewers currently staring at them. To everyone’s credit, only an awkward beat passes before Marcy Brewer is striding across the living room and sweeping Patrick up in a hug and Patrick’s cousins Penelope and Patricia held out welcoming hands to David, introducing their respective husbands as Ryan and Samuel. David smiles and shakes hands, complementing nail color and wrist accessories with equal charm.

“We didn’t think we’d end up seeing you guys tonight,” one of Patrick’s grandfathers says as he hangs his coat by the door and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a loaf of bread out of the fridge and slipping it into the oven. People mill around the house with a sense of belonging, with the ease of people who never have to question whether they belong inside the world of this family. It’s something that Patrick only notices now that he’d been out of the house for a while. 

“Luckily, David managed to find us a ride.” The pride in Patrick’s face when he looks at David is visible from space, and it brings the most delightful pink to David’s cheeks. He shrugs and bites his lip, swallowing a smile.

“Well, you know. Couldn’t miss the Brewer family Christmas.” Which makes all of the Brewer women beam at him, and Clint and Patrick share a conspiratorial eye-roll.

“Speaking of,” Marcy loops her arm through Patricks as they walk across the floor, “do you guys need help unpacking anything, or?”

David’s face falls as Patrick looks at him over his shoulder. “About that, actually.”

And Patrick tells them the story of the past forty-eight hours, from the blow-out to the B&B — conveniently leaving out the bits about the candles and the bathtub — as Patrick’s cousins set the table and the rest of the family perch on various pieces of living room furniture. When he finishes, he takes a minute to run their bags upstairs, kissing David on the top of the head as he walks past. 

“Shit, that sucks,” Samuel contributes, and Patrick’s other grandfather, the non-bread getter, mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like ‘sure does’. David nods in concurrence, and Ryan hands him a beer. David takes it with a smile and passes it from hand to hand for a few minutes before Patrick comes back from downstairs and trades him for a crisp glass of white he somehow acquired in the meantime. David toasts his glass and takes a long pull from the glass. He sighs heavily and Patrick watches some of the tension finally beginning to drain from his shoulders. He sets a hand on David’s back, a steady palm at the base of his neck, between his shoulder blades, and smiles down at him. 

He can feel his mind trying to reconcile this piece into the puzzle that is his life. He’s had so many of these Christmases, and at the same time has never had a Christmas like this because he’s never had David here with him. He’s had Rachel, and once a girl named Sarah, and other friends who needed a place to go over the holiday. But never a person he loves with his whole heart, who makes him feel seen and known and together when he was so used to feeling a certain degree of solitude. David leans back against him and the weight on his palm grounds him into the moment. 

Marcy calls them all to dinner and they fall into line around the dining room table, which is jammed packed with seats. David and Patrick wait at the edges of the room until Patrick’s grandparents have sat, and then Patrick pulls them gently to a pair of seats at the far corner of the table. They’ve got to dodge and squeeze past his niece and cousins, and there’s barely room to lift spoons to mouths, but when everyone is sat and all of Patrick’s family joins hands for the blessing, Patrick can feel that familiar pulse of warmth that passes between them. His family bows their head but he holds eye contact with David as his father thanks God for another year alive, and happy, and blessed in all the ways that He’s seen fit. Patrick hears Penelope mutter ‘She’s seen fit’ and David shakes with silent laughter and Patrick adds a silent thank you for his life in Schitt’s Creek, feeling that familiar sense that no amount of gratitude will ever be enough. 

The soup tastes just like it did when Patrick was little, and he keeps refilling David’s bread plate without being asked, and by the time they’re done he feels stuffed and sleepy and deeply, bone-achingly happy. He can’t shake the feeling in his chest, like a giant hand is gently squeezing his heart, and every time he sees his family looking at David with the same amount of respect, of recognition, of familial disdain that they do Ryan and Samuel, the fingers of the hand clench a little tighter. He offers to clear the table, and David stays behind to help until Patrick shoos him out into the living room with his sisters and a bottle of red, insisting he’s the only one who really understands the Tetris of the dishwasher. He’s finishing up loading the bowls and spoons, and just getting ready to start on the glasses, when he hears his grandma Agnes calling him from the living room. He dries his hands on a dishtowel and makes his way out to the rest of the family.

It’s a scene that threatens to take his breath away, the way David is nestled between his nephew Brady and his cousin Patricia, who is currently scrolling through some of her cosplay fan art on her phone. David looks genuinely entranced, and Patrick can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he’s talking with his hands, which is a good sign. His grandma is standing in front of the tree, holding out a set of matching wrapped boxes. “These are for you and David,” she says in her thick French-Canadian accent. He takes them and kisses her papery, warm cheek gently. He tucks them behind his back and makes his way to David, clearing his throat loudly until Patricia looks up at him.

“Can I help you?”

“Just hoping I’d get the chance to sit next to my fiance at some point in time,” Patrick tries to sound annoyed, but he sees the spark in his cousin's eyes when he says the word fiance and he can’t quite clamp down on the smile in his voice.

“You had him all through dinner, don’t be so selfish.”

“Come on, Pattie,” he says teasingly, and the spark in her eyes turns to fire.

“Don’t start, Ricky,” he feels his cheeks flame and he’s just about to spit back something nasty when David waves a hand between them.

“Time out, I’m sorry - Ricky?”

“When we were starting high school, Patrick decided that he needed to ditch his old nerd self and re-brand as Ricky,” Patricia stage whispers to him, throwing up a suffer hang-10 sign when she says Ricky. David looks at Patrick with his eyebrows in his hairline and he just shrugs.

“You’ll be shocked to learn it didn’t last.”

“I’m sure Ricky was very, very cool,’ David says, deadpan. Patrick huffs and holds out the presents to David.

“Take one of these and shut up, please. Patricia, can I please please please sit next to David?” he says, whining on the last please until she rolls her eyes and stands. They shuffle around each other until Patrick slips next to David and bumps their shoulders together. “Be nice to me.”

David leans his head on Patrick’s shoulder, ducking down a bit on the couch so he can look up at him from underneath his lashes. “I promise to be very, very nice later.” Patrick flushes and clears his throat.

“Open your present, dear,” he says, his voice loud and stiff.

David laughs, but slips a finger underneath the tape on the back of the box and pops it loose. The way he unwraps is slow, and methodical, and the first time Patrick saw him do it he almost whited out completely. As it is, he distracts himself by ripping into his own wrapping paper, tearing into it with abandon. He holds up the plaid pajama bottoms at the same time that David is uncovering his, and they look at each other with conspiratorial smiles. Patrick had told him about the coordinating family pajama photo, only because he knew not properly preparing David to have his skincare routine ready would be cause for divorce before they were even married. 

What he doesn’t expect is the t-shirt beneath it, which is bright green and has a picture of he and David screen-printed on the front of it and the words ‘A BREW-TIFUL BEGINNING” written in script beneath it. It’s them on the day they got engaged, a selfie from the top of the mountain, the forest laid out below them. David’s arm is wrapped around Patrick’s neck, his hand splayed across his chest so all four of his gold rings are on display. He’s pressing his face against Patrick’s in a giant, sloppy kiss and Patrick’s eyes are pressed closed, his grin gigantic as he holds out the camera to take the picture. They both radiate with happiness, and by the silence in the room, he knows that David’s unwrapping a matching shirt, as well. 

“It’s nothing,” he hears his dad say from across the room, and he looks up to find his whole family looking at them, wrapped around each other in couples and throuples, parents and children and husbands and wives, generations of love made manifest. 

“Just a little something to say welcome to the family,” Clint follows up, and Patrick knows what David is going to say before the words are out of his mouth.

“This is not nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Oh Come Thou Font", specifically [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1bSlS6OWTs) by Sufjan Stevens, which is officially the queerest holiday carol on the market.


End file.
